Only a serious blow to the head can stop George Lucas from continuing his slide into mediocrity. Unfortunately, it appears Lucas may be willing to sacrifice that last bit of self-respect in order to complete his trilogy of trilogies. The agonizing part about all of this is that I used to like Star Wars. Since beknighted episodes I and II (“The Phantom Story” and “Attack of the Crohn’s Disease“, respectively), I’ve gotten progressively numbed and embittered about the Star Wars universe.
What happened? Within twenty-seven years, the cheeky and engaging writing of A New Hope, and serious and surprising writing of Empire turned into the melodrama of Phantom and the juvenile sludge of Clones. Respectively, I and II are a space soap and a sitcom. Just to be safe, Lucas hired Jonathan Hales to help him write Episode II. Hales last came up with the story for The Scorpion King, and before that, wrote several episodes of The Adventures of Young Indiana Jones. Before that, his claim to fame was as a writer on the television series “Dallas”. Good call there, Lucas.
After the embarrassment of Episode II, there seemed to be a collective gentle sigh of relief from nearly everyone who was familiar with the Star Wars universe, as we all realized that, like a patient about to exit the stage of life, the end was coming soon. Should Lucas decide to go ahead with this dark speculation, it will be the equivalent of telling the patient that he will not die for several years, and in the meantime but may have to undergo a lobotomy.
Though the benefits of a lobotomy become apparent if one ponders having to watch Episodes I and II back to back. The vegetative state induced by both is practically the same…
I’ve been pondering the morality of using Fringe to create a fictitious life. It’s the truth that I’ve never told a lie on this webpage – every personal experience I’ve related here is true and actually happened. I don’t even exaggerate. But I’ve wanted to.
If only my conscience hadn’t stopped me, you might be reading about my exploits shoplifting from the local 7-11, or about the time I drank too much and stuffed rags up the tailpipes of every car in my parking lot. Instead, you’re stuck reading a three-part dissertation on the doctrinal problems of wheat-only Communion. Not exactly the stuff of legend.
What if I were to adjust my writing a bit? Fudge the details a bit more. Inject those little white somethings…the spice of fiction. Would you know? My life is pretty humdrum, compared to most–I don’t get out much; I have set routines that I’m sure would drive all but the senior citizens crazy if they were in my shoes; I excel at social avoidance; weird things happen to other people, not me; I encourage banality in my life–it thrives on my satisfaction of the status quo. Nothing ventured, nothing lost, I say.
Given that, would you notice if I lied? And would it matter? Is lying on my blog the same as lying in person? Or is this website simply a sketchbook? I’d like to be able to say I threw rocks off a bridge at oncoming cars and have it be a lie. And I’d like you to believe me.
I may start up a lie blog. In it I would detail accounts of my explosive temper, my run-ins with the law and my subsequent incarceration. I would write about my days at work, starting with my cubicle mate’s stabbing incident, and ending with one of the upper manager’s declaration that he was a sex offender. All my friends would be slightly shady figures of semi-mythic proportions. Several will have been convicted felons. One would even have killed a man. Over a card game. With a straw.
Or I may just complain that George Lucas can’t write a story anymore. Which is easier?